Cravings Of The Nicotine Kind
by spacemonkey69
Summary: Chandler wants a cigarette. Missing scene from 'TOW Rachel Smokes'. Please Read And Review.


A useless little fic that came to me yesterday morning at 6am, when I couldn't sleep. Eh, pretty much just ramble, but then, we expect those sorts of things from Chandler. And I love the thought of Chandler with a cigarette (he looks sexy with one) even if he's just thinking about it. So, this is a missing scene from TOW Rachel Smokes. I am working on Smoke and Mirrors still, by the way, I just...suck at the moment. So please read and review!

I do not own friends/actors/characters, but I do own the promo for Studio 60, and it looks fannnnnnnnnnnnnnntastic! I feel a squee coming on..Squee! (goes to watch it for the 20th time)

Monica pats me on the back as I struggle to regain my breath, and God would a cigarette help speed the process along by, like, a million percent.

Of course, those little 'death sticks', as my friends have wrongly called them, are the reason _why _I have the lungs of a two year old, but _they don't know._

Death sticks.

More like _pleasure _sticks. Those things are better then sex, unless, of course, it's sex with Yasmine Bleeth.

Or sex with a cigarette.

That would be weird though.

"Hey!" Phoebe enters the apartment, and I draw myself away from my thoughts of smoke filled lungs and bliss to smile distractedly at her.

"Hey!" Monica pulls her hand away and I barely notice, still too caught up. Perhaps Rachel will start smoking to help her job. Perhaps I can smoke her if she does.

She isn't that big, I'm sure I could manage, although Monica _is_ smaller. She would be easier to light.

But then she would squirm a _lot _more then Rachel. She's a squirmier.

I hope Monica can't hear my thoughts. Sometimes I think she can, and it scares me that I seem to have fallen for someone right off the pages of X Men.

The X Men people probably get to smoke if they want to.

It's a lost cause.

"Hey Rach, you wanna get some coffee?" Phoebe asks and I quickly decide that caffeine might be the thing to take my mind away from my nicotine fetish.

And plus, I want to keep within a twenty centimetre radius of Rachel, just in case I decide I need my fix.

"I would love to!" Rachel replies and I wonder why Phoebe didn't ask me. Maybe I'm not invited? But when has that ever stopped me before?

"Oh good!" Phoebe says happily and I wish I was happy, but I don't have something in my mouth.

For some reason, that reminds me of my father, and now I definitely need a hit of at least _something,_ even if it is orange juice.

If the orange juice was laced with vodka.

Or nicotine.

"Yeah, I wanna go too, babe," I decide, leaning in for a quick kiss, hoping that along the way, a packet of cigarettes will miraculously find their way into my hand. I'd even settle for menthol right now, and I almost gag at the thought, but stand up instead and make my way over to Rachel's side.

"Oh good," Phoebe says again, walking with us to the open door. We step out, and I turn to face Phoebe, getting an odd feeling of betrayal, even before she speaks. "Oh, wait, I've changed my mind."

The door is slammed in our faces and Rachel and I stare at it for a long moment, then shrug in unison. Gives me all the more chance to seduce Rachel into our 'death stick' ways.

"Well, that was interesting," Rachel says as we start down the steps.

"For Phoebe? Not so much."

"Good point. So, what do you want for your birthday, honey?"

An IV drip of nicotine, directly into my veins.

Could nicotine _be _used that way?

There's really only one way to find out, but I don't have the tools to work with.

"My birthday? That's a while away, don't ya think?" I say instead, suddenly remembering the plan for the surprise party.

"Not really, only a couple of weeks, y'know."

"No, I've forgotten. When is my birthday again, Rachel?" I deadpan, and she slaps my arm lightly.

"Seriously, what do you want?"

"Well, you could steal me some of those polo shirts from your office," I try again, and she laughs.

"Oh, you."

What does a guy have to do to get a polo shirt around here?

I stop briefly, shake my head, then continue on as Rachel and I hit the street.

"You know, you should start smoking," I say lightly and Rachel gives me a _look._

"Chandler, do you know what smoking does to you?"

"Eternal bliss?"

"What? No! It-"

"Feels _so _good. You should give it a try."

"Chandler, no-"

"Might get you a promotion-"

"Chandler-"

"I won't tell Monica if you don't tell on me." And with that, I turn and walk towards the closest store, my mind made up.

"Chandler, where are you going?"

"Oh, nowhere. Just to buy _you _some cigarettes," I say slyly. Rachel grabs my arm.

"I don't want cigarettes-"

"Nobody _wants _cigarettes, Rachel, the cigarettes call to them, like Batman's beacon, or something," I inform her, but stop anyway. She gives me an odd look.

"What?"

"I don't know, I'm very unfulfilled at the moment."

"You want to smoke, don't you?"

"No, I want to join the anti smoking campaign," I say sarcastically, and she isn't surprised.

"No, Chandler. Remember what you went through last time you quit?"

"Yes, you turned me into a _woman_!"

People stop to look and I shrink away, motioning a bit too energetically for Rachel to join me.

"I did _not _turn you into a woman!"

"Oh, tell it to the ants!"

We both pause, frowning at what I've just said.

"Huh?"

"Besides, who says I'm gonna quit if I start smoking again?" I quickly change the subject, not wanting to look like an even bigger fool.

"We are _not _having this conversation, Chandler. Let's go get some coffee, come on."

I pout, but give up, for now. Caffeine will have to do at that moment.

"Fine, but I know what you can get me for my birthday."

"I'm not getting you cigarettes, Chandler!"

I stop, watching her walk and remember the old cartoons where they would get so hungry that their friends would start to look like a juicy steak.

Rachel is my steak right now, and it is my mission in life to smoke her.

Or at least, get her to smoke and live off her tainted, delicious air.

...I wonder if Monica would let me.


End file.
